Juliet's Revenge
by Elene
Summary: A different look at "Romeo and Juliet", written in the perspective of Juliet, using common language.


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Juliet's Revenge

I fell in love with his name first, then him. Romeo Montague, the only son of our enemy.   
"Romeo Montague..." I repeated his name, "He seems like a nice young man," I told Nurse as Romeo walked out of the door.   
"Oh, no! My young lady, he is our enemy!"   
"So?" I liked the idea of enemy; it sounded so exciting.   
"Your father wouldn't be very happy if he --"   
"Lord Capulet is not my father!" I interrupted her, who looked at me in awe.   
  
Ever since I could remember, Lord Capulet was in control of the house, as well as my life. He arranged everything for me -- room, clothing, even marriage. I don't own a thing in my home; even the name Juliet I inherited from an aunt.   
I am tired of my life, tired of being a goody-goody for almost fourteen years. Everyone looks at me as if I'm merely a child, but I know I am not.   
Many a time evil spirits would creep in my mind, whispering ideas that are so wicked I had never dared to dream of. Yet I long to follow in their steps, to violate the principles I previously accepted without questioning.   
What am I living for? Who am I living for?   
Am I merely one of Lord Capulet's possessions, whom he could manipulate to his will?   
Sometimes I wish I were not one of the Capulets, that I did not have to follow the confining etiquette and act ladylike. Thus I started to admire the free life of commoners, whom the Capulets regard as rustic, and I refused to call Lord Capulet my father.   
  
I wanted to do something non-Capulet, to protest, to revenge, to show the Capulets that they have been wrong in the way they treat me. I demanded attention and respect.   
And Romeo Montague was just the solution.   
  
"Romeo and I decided to get married," I told Nurse.   
The astounded expression on her face well satisfied my expectation.   
A dance, a name, and a talk ... that's all it really needs to unite two people together.   
  
The next day, Romeo and I arrived in Friar Laurence's cell.   
Friar Laurence put his hand on my shoulder, "Juliet, do you really love this man, Romeo Montague?"   
"Does it matter?" I replied gloomily, looking into his piercing eyes, in which a glow of understanding appeared.   
On that sunny Monday afternoon, he wedded us. Juliet Capulet and Romeo Montague.   
  
That night, Romeo Montague and I stayed together in my room.   
As we lay in each other's arms, he asked, as all men in this world would like to know, "Why do you love me?"   
"Does love need a reason?"   
"Does it not?"   
"Romeo, why do you love me?"   
"Because," he smiled, "you are Juliet. My Juliet."   
I reached to caress his hair, soft and dark, flowing like the cloud.   
"Then, I love you, because you are a Montague."   
We both fell into deep silence.   
I listened to his rhythmic breaths, and suddenly felt that the man, who lay beside me, is so distant and foreign to me.   
  
"You're marrying Paris tomorrow." Lord Capulet informed me.   
"I don't want to."   
"What?"   
I see astonishment in his eyes, along with disbelief and rage.   
"I don't want to." I repeated firmly. For the first time in my life, I disobeyed the Capulets openly.   
"How dare you talk back to your father like this?!"   
"Just because you're my father it doesn't mean that you know better than I!"   
Never, never in my life had I seen Lord Capulet so furious before; delight of the revenge flooded my heart.   
"You ... why are you my daughter?"   
"I don't know either," I replied coldly.   
"Go and die then!"   
"You shall have your wish!"   
I drank the prepared potion and fainted onto the floor.   
  
The moment before I lose my consciousness, I saw an extreme anguish and disappointment on Lord Capulet's face, as if he had aged ten years in that two minutes.   
Also in that moment before I fainted, I felt sorry for the man who gave birth to me, and my gratification of revenge all gone.   
  
"Romeo!!! No!!!"   
He glanced back at me, his countenance at first surprised, then painful as his life yielded to the power of poison.   
I struggled to drag myself to his side, unbelieving what I had just seen.   
I felt his body, still lukewarm, yet his eyes are closed forever. Silence of death again prevailed the vault.   
Had I done this? Trembling at the thought of death, I started to weep.   
For revenge I had killed him, my husband. Although he did not die at my hands, I knew I was the one who's responsible.   
  
As I shoved the dagger into my heart, the ancient question echoed in my mind:   
"For what do we love and hate?"   
I still don't know the answer. 


End file.
